


The Procession

by rainier_day



Series: The Procession [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ep 63 Spoilers, Gen, M/M, Temporary Character Death, widomaukweek2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 03:02:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19076161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainier_day/pseuds/rainier_day
Summary: Taking a step towards the coldness with his hands out, he suddenly feels a presence.A wisp of a tendril is there, and somehow, he knows innately rather by sight that it’s reaching out towards him.Flamebearer…





	The Procession

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1: Reunions
> 
> I'm impatient for phoenix lore and Mollymauk so I made my own stuff up

_“It looks like they’re coming north, Your Risen. The trap worked. …yes, all seven of them. Not to worry, I will ensure it happens. Everything will be as you desire.”_

_Glowing crimson eyes blink slowly before closing once more._

\--

“Cast Sending to that drow again! Tell them we’ll kill them and they should just give up now!” Nott yells in frustration as they bed down for the night. “Actually, no, send a message to Yeza and check on him and let him know we’ll be back soon!”

Jester smiles. “I can do it more than once a day, you know? I’d like to contact my mom as well though and that might take two spells.”

Nott immediately nods. “You should go first then! It’s your magic, Jester, and I know you’re worried about your mom. Go ahead, we can figure it the next message out after!

Caleb smiles faintly to himself at their antics as he readies himself for bed, sending Frumpkin to the top of the dome to stand watch. His wounds may be healed, but his body’s still aching from that five-armed hug from that monstrous creature earlier.

He listens to Jester burn through her words with Fjord keeping count while Beau shouts helpful abbreviations to use next time. Caduceus is looking out to the barren land with the same calm as he’s always exuded but now tinged with determination. And Yasha, she sits at the edge with her hand around her sword, looking steadily up to the skies as though waiting for a sign.

Despite wanting to see Jester’s complete her messages, sleep pulls at him until he’s no longer able to keep his eyes open and drifts off.

\--

The first thing he notices is the cold.

He can’t see anything but it feels cold and hollow as if in a room of marble.

He reaches out.

Nothing.

Taking a step towards the coldness with his hands out, he suddenly feels a presence.

A wisp of a tendril is there, and somehow, he knows innately rather by sight that it’s reaching out towards him.

_Flamebearer…_

He furrows his brows. Something about the presence feels both familiar and not, and it fills him with both warmth and a horrible emptiness. Taking another step forward into the wisp, he gasps as it caresses his cheek. For a moment, all he can feel is a gentle sadness and longing so strong it’s suffocating.

And then it’s gone.

The wisp bursts into flames, lighting up the room in an icy violet glow. The tenderness earlier is replaced by raw, unfeeling _power_ and he takes a step back.

\--

Sitting up, Caleb opens his eyes to find it early morning. Caduceus turns his head at the sudden movement and smiles gently. “Bad dream?”

He shakes his head and clasps at pendant around his neck, a reminder that whatever that dream was, at least he knew it wasn’t a scrying spell. “I don’t know. It was…different. I don’t know.”

The cleric nods. “Maybe it was just a strange dream. I get those sometimes.”

“And if it’s not?” he asks.

“And if it’s not, well, I have a feeling we’ll find our answers in the north,” the firbolg tell him.

Caleb frowns and turns to glance in that direction, seeing nothing but more of the same barren waste they travelled through the day before. “You seem very certain of that.”

“I’m not certain of anything,” Caduceus replies easily. “But it’s just a hunch I have.”

He spends the next few minutes attempting to review his newest spells until Beau jolts up onto her feet and looks around wildly for a moment. “Shit! Fuck, sorry. My bad. Weird dream.”

One by one, the other members of their party startle awake with similar reactions.

Caleb arches a brow and looks over to Caduceus. “Herr Clay, I am starting to think it was more than a dream.”

\--

_Glowing eyes open._

_“Your Risen! …yes, they are coming. We have eyes on their movement. You’ve spoken to them? They are truly the ones, then? Of course, I meant no disrespect. Yes, I will prepare it at once.”_

\--

“Wait, let’s go over this again,” Beau says as they sit around in a circle to discuss the latest event over breakfast. “We all had the same dream. It was a dark room and something was there.”

“It was pitch black,” Fjord says. “Maybe it was because it was a dream but I couldn’t see a single thing. Did you all feel that thing?”

Jester nods. “That ghosty thing, right? It felt so sad.”

“It called me ‘Angel of Irons’,” Yasha says, her quiet voice cutting through the silence.

They all turn to her.

“That’s different. The head we were talking to mentioned something by that name, didn’t it? It said they followed it or needed it or something?” Nott tells her. “It called me ‘Witness’. Did it say something different to you, Caleb?”

He blinks and dips his head. “Ja, it called me ‘Flamebearer’.”

Beau frowns. “That’s weird as shit.”

“Why? What’d you get?” Fjord asks.

“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she snaps back automatically. “Fuck, sorry, I’m just weirded out by this. ‘Chief Mourner.’ That’s what I got.”

“Well, shit,” Fjord mutters. “I got ‘Pallbearer’. Jes? What about you?”

Jester makes a pensive face. “‘Undertaker’ for me. Caduceus? Did you hear anything? Oh, but you were on watch so you were awake.”

The firbolg blinks slowly and perks up. “Ah, actually, come to think of it, I may have heard something. I thought I was just daydreaming or maybe Clarabelle was being fussy.”

“What was it? What’d you get, Mister Clay?” Nott asks, leaning forward with interest.

“‘Conductor,’” Caduceus answers, sounding thoughtful.

Caleb frowns. “It sounds like we’re being primed for a funeral.”

Beau nods. “Yeah, but whose funeral? And also how did it make us all dream the same thing at once? Is there even a magic that can do that?”

“Not by normal means, perhaps,” Caleb says, his expression grim. “But I think we can all agree that whatever that was, it was not normal.”

“Do you think it’s waiting for us up north?” Jester asks. “What if this is the blond guy? What if him and the drow are working together? Should I try scrying on him?”

Fjord holds out his hand to stop her. “Maybe save it for later, Jessie. Y’know, in case we run into more trouble on the road.”

\--

_“I understand. It won’t be much longer, Your Risen. You will be freed. Renewal will come. The Procession is on its way.”_

\--

Their day goes much like the last, stopping only to fight more monstrosities. They learn to light up the battlefield, choosing to risk attracting more attention rather than fighting at disadvantage against those things. Still, they don’t come out unscathed.

After a round of healing and travelling farther into more mountainous terrain, they decide to stop for the night. He sets up his hut and Jester tries to scry on the blond man to no avail and settles on sending messages to the drow, not bothering to put on an accent now that she’s already been seen through. “Hey you, tell us what’s up north or we’re not coming! Also, tell us your name and where you are and if you’re with the—”

“That’s it,” Fjord cuts her off.

Jester pouts and waits. “…he knows we’re on our way.”

“Send them another message! Tell them we’ll skin them alive!” Nott shouts. “Oh, and maybe ask if he knows anything about those sad monsters we keep running into.”

“Okay, hang on.” Taking a moment to think, Jester tries again, “Hi, it’s me again. We might change our minds, you know? So you should just tell us. Also, what are those sad monsters? Also, we’re going to kill you!”

Fjord shakes his head. “You only got ‘also we’re’.”

Nott shrugs. “At least you got part of the point made.”

Head tilting up, Jester pauses and then tells the rest of them, “He says they’re called ‘Sorrowsworn’ and they’re afraid of the light.”

“Yeah, but we figured that out already,” Beau says. “Did he say anything _useful_?”

“He says we’re close…” Jester continues, her eyes wide, “and he says not to keep them waiting.”

The revelation leaves them in silence.

“Who is ‘they’?” Yasha eventually asks.

Jester shakes her head. “I don’t know. He didn’t say. Should I try again?”

“I think perhaps you should save your last spell for someone else,” Caleb suggests quietly. “Everything this man has done so far has been to get us to the north. And now that he is reasonably certain we’re close, I don’t think he will answer any more of our questions.”

“What if he’s feeling chatty?” Nott asks.

Beau shakes her head. “No, I think Caleb’s right. He’s done talking to us. Maybe you should use it to check up on your mom or Yeza instead. Whatever or _whoever_ ‘they’ are, I think we’re on a collision course with them.”

\--

The cold is more biting this time.

Shivering, he doesn’t wait to take a step forward.

There’s nothing there to greet him.

Taking another step, and then another, with his hands out, he walks carefully through the darkness until he finds the tendril once more.

It moves faintly, slowly reaching for him only to shrink away once more.

He frowns and reaches out to grab it.

Only to fall to his knees with a gasp, clutching at his chest as pain shoots down his body.

But he doesn’t wake up.

Whatever _this_ is doesn’t let him.

Instead, the wisp bursts into that same eerie flame. Glowing tall and bright, it illuminates the room, revealing a throne.

_Flamebearer…_

As he slips back into consciousness, he thinks he hears a softer voice, afraid and pleading underneath.

\--

Caleb doesn’t sit up this time, keeping his eyes shut, trying to cling on to the dream just a little longer.

“Hey, you up, Caleb? I saw you move,” Beau’s voice calls out.

At this, he nods and pushes himself onto his elbows. “Ja, I am up. You were on watch, right? Did you see anything?”

She shakes her head. “I heard it. And—” One by one, the rest of the party come to with a mix of cries and sharp inhales. Beau frowns and looks over at him. “Rough dream, huh?”

“It…hurt,” he replies, running a hand over his sternum where the pain had been the sharpest. More than that, there’s a lingering pressure in his chest from those last few moments of the dream and it tugs at him with unseen hands, bringing forth feelings he can’t place. Running a hand through his hair, he mutters in frustration, “There was a throne and…and something else. I couldn’t quite get it but there was something else, and I think it was important.”

Beau nods, her expression thoughtful. “For some reason, I don’t doubt that. I don’t like the idea of playing into anyone’s hand, but I think this is something we need to see through. Let’s see what the others think.”

\--

_“Today? It has been cleansed then? I will make sure we are ready to receive the Procession at once, Your Risen. At long last, the day of renewal…”_

\--

They return to the same spots they sat at for last night’s discussion with Caduceus silently serving them breakfast. No one seems to have much of an appetite, but there seems to be a mutual consensus that they’ll need every bit of energy they can get to tackle the day.

“We need to go find this place,” Yasha says with surprising force. He looks over at her and immediately knows she feels the same draw. “I don’t understand this, but I _need_ to be there.”

Fjord nods in agreement. “At the very least, I don’t think this is the Dynasty’s doing or even the Empire’s. So we’re not doing anything to aggravate the war.”

“I think Yasha is right,” Jester says quietly, a hand to her heart. “That dream hurt but this hurts more. Is this how your dreams normally feel, Fjord?”

“No, they’re not like this at all. The pain wasn’t as real and sure didn’t linger like this,” he replies, looking uncomfortable at the thought.

Caduceus takes a long drink of his tea and studies them all calmly. “So, should we take this procession to the north then?”

\--

As they bound across the land, it takes a natural curve and leads them alongside a small mountain range. The skies are still grey, but without the Dynasty’s magic, soft rays of light peek through the clouds. It lingers in the sky, never quite reaching the ground, but the sight of sunlight is enough to put them more at ease.

Almost a full day of travel goes by uneventfully when their moorbounders suddenly come to a stop. The seven of them glance at one another, confused. Jester tries to urge Yarnball to go, but it merely takes a step back and abruptly lies down.

The other two follow suit.

“What’s wrong with them?” Nott asks. “Did they eat something weird last night?”

Caleb glances down. “Janek?”

He gets a nasally noise in response.

Frowning, he looks around their surroundings. They’re at the foot of a mountain, barren save for the occasional spindly tree and patch of dried wild grass. “If you give me a little time, I can see if there’s magic at work here.”

“There’s no need for that, Mister Caleb,” Caduceus tells him, sliding off his moorbounder and points towards the mountain. “It looks like this is exactly where we need to be if that gentleman there is anything to go by.”

They all turn to see the drow from the Overcrow standing there, watching them. A wave of surprise sweeps through them as they arm themselves and wait, but the drow seems unconcerned. “We have been waiting for you,” he says instead. “Come, you can leave your beasts there. They will not move.”

Beau frowns. “You expect us to just listen and follow you without explanation?”

He glances back, his brow arched with amusement. “Oh, how rude of me. Did you have questions?”

“No shit. Let’s start with who are you and what’re you doing here,” she asks.

The drow smiles. “I am the Overseer. I’m here to lead the Procession.”

“What is this procession?” Fjord asks.

“Why, it’s you, of course,” the Overseer says lightly and then turns around and begins walking.

“Wait,” Yasha calls out. “You knew me as Orphan Maker…”

The Overseer nods and continuing towards the mountain without looking back. “Yes, but that’s not what you’re needed as right now, Angel of Irons. Come along, we mustn’t keep the Risen waiting.”

The seven of them exchange wary glances and, one by one, slide off their moorbounders. As the drow said, none of them move from their place. They follow the Overseer down an unseen pathway, which narrows as they walk until they find themselves single-file in front of a rock wall.

Eventually, the drow turns around and smiles as if pleasantly surprised. “Very good, you’ve gotten yourselves in the right order on your own.”

The Mighty Nein turn to one another in silent bewilderment. Caleb looks back at Nott, who shrugs in response. “What order are we in, Caleb?” she whispers.

“We have the Overseer, the Angel of Irons, the Undertaker, the Pallbearer, the Chief Mourner, the Flamebearer, the Witness, and the Conductor,” he lists off. Suddenly, it dawns on him. “This isn’t just a funeral, Nott. It’s a cremation.”

“But whose?” she asks back. “Who is the ‘Risen’? Hey, Mister Clay, could this be the kiln you’re looking for?”

Caduceus tilts his head curiously. “Oh, I hadn’t really thought of that. It may well be a kiln, but I don’t think it’s the one I’m searching for. This is tied to some other magic—very powerful magic, but not the Wildmother’s.”

The Overseer mutters an incantation and a narrow cave appears in the rock. From within, there’s comes a steady pulse of magic like a dull heartbeat. It feels ancient and raw, and it leaves his hair on the back of his neck standing and his own heart racing.

Without a word, the drow steps into the darkness of the cave and disappears.

Standing a little straighter, Yasha follows after him.

Beau spares a concerned glance back at him before falling into step after Fjord.

Although hesitant, Caleb finds his feet bringing him into the cave. Entering the dark recesses of the cavern, the first thing he notices is the cold.

He can’t see anything but it feels cold and hollow as if in a room of marble.

Coming to a halt next to Beauregard, he peers into the blackness, blind even with the help of his transmuter’s stone, and waits.

“Your Risen,” the Overseer speaks. There is no echo in the cavern, only emptiness. “Your Procession is ready. All will be as you desire.”

In the darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes slowly open.

Caleb freezes.

Torches around the cavern suddenly burst into life, each flame glowing an icy violet against the walls, and he realizes what he thought was marble was actually obsidian. The flames reflect off the walls, dimly lighting up the rest of the room and revealing a throne sitting atop a raised platform at the back of the room.

Dread grips him as he looks up.

Seated in the throne is a familiar figure. Lavender skin and horns that curl around pierced ears, all bedecked in gold and silver. Although his head is lowered and shadows obscure his form, Caleb feels his heart stutter at the sight.

“ _Mollymauk…_ ”

The tiefling doesn’t react.

Yasha lets out a cry and runs forward.

A circle of flame erupt around the throne, lighting up what they all failed to see before: like a cruel rendition of Glory Run Road, protruding from his chest is the blade of a sword.

Falling to her knees in front of the tiefling, Yasha looks up with tears running down her face. “Molly…are you there? Can you hear me?”

Crimson eyes blink slowly, glowing and unseeing.

_Angel of Irons…release this binding. Remove the sword._

They all hear the voice, ancient and devoid of emotion.

“Nein!” Caleb finds himself calling out. Stepping out of the line they’ve formed, he runs up to the edge of the flames. “He will die if you do! Yasha, that voice, whatever it is, it is not _him_. It is not Mollymauk!”

“No, that is the voice of the Risen and you should address them with the veneration they deserve,” the Overseer tells them, his voice cold and commanding even as Beau and Nott step forward to stop him. “You must obey and see this Procession through! The renewal must happen!”

Yasha’s eyes never leave the tiefling’s face. “No. Mollymauk, I know you’re in there. I saw you in that dream. I’d know your soul anywhere. It was made to match mine. _Please_.” She takes one of his hands off the throne and clasps it between her own. “Please, Mollymauk, come back to me.”

Tears slowly run down the tiefling’s face.

_Angel of Irons, this body must fulfill its purpose._

“I can’t. I don’t know what you are, but you can’t have this one,” she calls back, her voice hard. “I’ve claimed this one for my own.”

_No, it was made for this and this alone. Continue the Procession, Overseer._

“Of course, Your Risen.” The drow raises a hand at Yasha and mutters an incantation. She tenses for a moment, then her shoulders drop and she rises to her feet. Letting go of the hand she was holding so delicately, she steps around to the back of the throne.

Jester lets out a shout and tries to dispel the magic and Beau tackles the drow to the ground but it’s too late.

With her hands on the hilt of the sword, Yasha pulls.

The body lurches back as the blade disappears and then slumps forward, glowing eyes never closing.

_It is done. Undertaker._

A gap opens in the circle of flames as Jester and Fjord run forward to the tiefling. Behind them, a new, larger circle of flames bursts up from the ground, surrounding the first.

“Molly!” she cries, pressing her hands against the wound. Blood seeps through her fingers even as she tries to heal it.

_Strip the horns._

Jester tilts her head up to glare at the unseen voice. “No! Those are Molly’s!” she shouts. “I’m not his undertaker, I’m his sister-in-arms, I’m his family, I’m his _Jester_!”

Caleb quickly steps into the inner circle and positions himself next to Fjord, between Jester and the Overseer, ready to counter any spell. There’s a faint whisper somewhere behind him, just on the cusp of audible, and he can’t help but glance back.

Nothing.

“Don’t worry, Molly, I’ll take care of you,” Jester says quietly, her voice thick with tears. “I’m here now. Nothing bad will ever happen to you again,” she whispers, her words transitioning into Infernal.

_Undertaker, the body must be prepared._

She merely hisses at the voice.

Outside the circle of flames, Beau lands another punch on the Overseer, breaking his concentration.

The sword clatters to the ground as Yasha stares at her hands and screams. Caleb raises a hand to shield himself as her bony wings snap open and a blast of necrotic energy hits him.

“Yasha, Molly’s still alive! I need your help!” Jester cries. “Fjord, help me lay him down.”

_Pallbearer, desist._

Ignoring the voice, Fjord turns around and helps Yasha carefully lowers the tiefling to the ground. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I’m not interested in being a pallbearer. Just a roommate.”

_Enough._

Suddenly, the cavern is filled with a pulsing red energy, blinding and overwhelming. Shielding his eyes, Caleb glances back up to find the scene frozen.

Through the unmoving flames, he sees Beau and Nott straighten, stepping away from the Overseer’s body, now riddled with bolts, their eyes wide as they motion to the throne.

Following their gaze, Caleb turns back around to see a winged figure shrouded in violet flames standing over the tiefling. It radiates nothing but power, and he can’t help but take a step back.

Nott, ever braver than him, fires her crossbow at it but the bolt disintegrates before it can make contact.

_The Procession will not be stopped._

It runs a hand over the horns, melting away the jewellery with a mere touch. Next, it pulls the pendant off, letting the metal disintegrate in its hand. One by one, it strips the body of its jewellery before turning and suddenly apparating between the circles of flame.

 _Chief Mourner_.

“I’m not much of a mourner,” Beau replies, her voice tight with fear and anger. “I’m really just kind of an asshole. Like, just an all-round unpleasant person.”

Faintly, Caleb feels a flicker of _something_ and glances around.

_The final rebirth awaits. Renewal awaits._

A little bolder, Beau says, “What? So it’s third time’s a charm with that body? Listen, I don’t give a shit about renewal or whatever, I just want the old obnoxious one back—the one I traded lies with. The one I owe my life to.”

_That life has ended._

“He was still breathing though! He _cried_!” Nott argues. “Jester healed him!”

_A body without a soul is not a life._

“But it’s not without one,” Caleb finds himself speaking. “Not yet.”

_The soul has been cleansed._

He doesn’t reply, instead, calling out, “Mister Mollymauk, you were trying to reach out to us in that dream, weren’t you? I heard your voice. Yasha may know your soul, but I know your voice. Please. _Speak_. I am listening.”

_Flamebearer._

Underneath, he hears a different voice, wispy and faint, barely even a whisper.

Taking a step towards the frozen scene before him, Caleb kneels down next to the body. There, he knows innately rather than by sight, something is curled up and hiding, shivering and afraid. “Mollymauk…can you hear me? It’s Caleb. I am here.”

Slowly, he feels the tendril uncurl, so faint and weak, it seems to struggle to maintain its form.

A whisper brushes at his ear but fails to make a proper sound.

He quickly pulls out the pearl from his component pouch and mutters an incantation before reaching out for what his eyes tell him cannot _be_. And he finds it. Emotions course through him as he gives his magic something to anchor itself to. There’s confusion and fear and a sliver of hope so fragile it tears at his heart. “You loved me when I deserved it least and in turn I failed you. I _will not_ fail you again,” he tells the wisp. “I know this is hard, and I know you are scared, but, _please_ , come back. Don’t make me lose you again.”

The small bead of energy circles the unseen presence with its fragment of infinite potential and disappears in a flash of grey light.

Holding his breath, Caleb waits.

First, there is a spark.

And then a pulse.

_Ca…leb…_

It’s soft and delicate, but it’s _there_.

He watches a thin, hazy mass appear around the tendril, twisting and wrapping around itself in an attempt to create a coherent form.

_…Caleb…_

A relieved smile finds its way to his lips. “Mollymauk.”

Beyond the frozen flames, he hears Nott gasp.

_The soul was cleansed._

Turning to the fiery figure, Caleb says, “A soul is not so easily broken or gotten rid of. This body and life belongs to Mollymauk Tealeaf and none other. I will not be your ustor.”

_Witness. Your renewal also awaits._

Nott looks up, her eyes wide for a moment before shaking her head. “I’m a pretty good detective, so I think I know what you’re getting at, but Molly told me not to steal from happy people. So if I didn’t steal even one bauble from him when we buried him, what makes you think I’ll steal his life? I don’t need your renewal, whatever you are. I have Caleb.”

“Hey, also, in order for your ‘renewal’ to work, you need the body to be emptied out, right? Not once, but twice.” Beau asks, stepping forward. “I think we’ve just proven that this cycle’s not quite over yet. Besides, I think you need to find yourself a new Overseer.”

The fiery figure seems to consider her words before turning around and reappearing next to the body. Caleb gives a start and readies a counterspell but it merely leans in and studies the mass, which has now twisted itself into the faint outline of something almost humanoid.

It shrinks back and Caleb rises to his feet to stand in front of it protectively. “It is not time for your procession yet.”

The figure cocks its head, even its gestures devoid of emotion.

_The Procession **will** happen._

The tendril’s form visibly wavers but seems to gather itself back.

_…not…yet…_

Without warning, the figure bursts into the shape of a large bird and disappears in a flash.

At once, time seems to continue with Jester’s frantic healing and Yasha’s quiet words of encouragement.

The circles of flame surrounding the throne disappear and along the walls, the icy violet flames change back to orangey-red.

Glowing red eyes begin to dim.

“No!” Jester shouts, her hands glowing brighter as she channels her magic. “Don’t you _dare_ give up, Mollymauk Tealeaf! Oh, c’mon, Traveler, please help me…!”

Nott, Beau, and Caduceus run over to join the rest of the group. Frowning at him with her fingers digging nervously into her robes, Beau says, “I thought it was over. Why isn’t he coming back?”

He worries his lower lip, nails digging into his palm as he watches on. “I don’t know.”

Crouching down next to Jester, Caduceus places a hand gently on her arm and smiles. “I think he just needs a bit of a nudge. Would you mind?”

Hesitantly, she retracts her hand and nods.

Caduceus leans back a little and looks to some middle distance above the body and says conversationally, “Hello there, Mister Mollymauk. My name is Caduceus Clay. We haven’t formally met, but I’ve heard a lot about you. Your friends miss you very much.”

“We do, Molly,” Jester cries, her tail curling around the body’s limp one. “We missed you so much and all the time.”

“Now, I know you’re scared,” Caduceus continues, his voice a gentle rumble. “Your soul’s been through a lot and I don’t know in what ways that will show. But you’re surrounded by friends, both new and old. Have faith. Trust that you’ll be safe and taken care of. So, what do you say?”

Caleb kneels down and takes one hand while Yasha takes the other.

And they wait.

Suddenly, fingers curl weakly around his hand.

With a sharp inhale, he looks up to find crimson eyes looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> Day one down! Seven more to go! They won't all be connected but some of them will.
> 
> There was a story I read once as a kid about animals holding a funeral procession where the badger rang the death knell and the robin was the chief mourner or something. I can't for the life of me remember what it was and now Google thinks I'm insane for looking up animal funeral processions.


End file.
